


Choices Made

by georgiamagnolia



Category: Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-12
Updated: 2011-07-12
Packaged: 2017-10-21 07:36:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/222555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/georgiamagnolia/pseuds/georgiamagnolia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya and Napoleon find that as their roles in the UNCLE change, so do their opportunities.</p><p>((originally posted elsewhere January 2K11))</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choices Made

“Are you sorry?”

The man on the balcony stood motionless and silent for a very long time as the other joined him at the railing. Finally he turned his head a fraction and looked out of the corner of his eye at his companion and asked, “For what?”

“For any of it. For coming here, for being here, for staying here.”

“You’re maudlin this evening. I thought that was my job, as stereotypes go.”

“Well, you know what they say. If you spend enough time with someone you start to resemble them. Perhaps, partner mine, I am simply making up for your lack of fulfilling the stereotype.”

“And can I expect to start quoting rhymes and flirting with every secretary and stewardess I meet?” Illya turned to face Napoleon and leaned a hip against the balcony railing, crossing his arms and allowing a wry grin to start at the corner of his mouth.

“I believe they are called flight attendants now.”

“So they are, Napoleon.” Illya watched Napoleon as he stood looking at the traffic below them. “What’s brought this on, my friend?”

Napoleon shrugged, turned to mirror Illya and tried to match the smile. “You were so quiet tonight after the reception, I wondered if maybe you were homesick. Or sorry.” Napoleon shrugged again, trying to mask the discomfort he felt.

“No, Napoleon, not homesick. I have been content with the choices I have made.” Illya’s voice was soft and Napoleon found himself leaning forward to hear the words his friend was saying. He realized too late that this was exactly what Illya wanted.

Illya reached up with both hands and framed Napoleon’s face, cupping his jaw with the heels of his palms while his fingers started to gently rub the tiniest of circles on Napoleon’s temples. Napoleon relaxed into the touch and closed his eyes. Illya’s voice remained soft.

“You don’t even realize the headache is there some days, eh, my friend?”

Napoleon’s only response was barely a nod that Illya felt more than saw in the gathering darkness on the balcony. Slowly the tension that had grown over the course of the evening drained from the features of his partner and Illya smiled a little more. His hands stilled, warm on Napoleon’s skin. Slowly, Napoleon opened his eyes.

“I am content with my choices, Napoleon. All of them.”

If it was possible for Napoleon’s eyes to darken any further, Illya couldn’t imagine it. He drew his hands forward, bringing those eyes closer until his own lost focus and then other senses were engaged. He tasted champagne they had been drinking at the reception. He inhaled the mingled scents of gun oil, leather, and a trace of aftershave unique to Napoleon, warm and familiar.

Napoleon took the half step forward that separated them and felt the warmth of his partner radiate against him, warmth that he felt had always been there, that he did not want to ever be without. He brought his hands up and slid them along Illya’s arms, strong biceps under his palms and then warm skin and golden hair as he again mirrored his lover gesture for gesture. The kiss deepened and stretched out before them like the night, like their future.

~~~

“Illya Nickovetch, how many years has it been?” The voice bordered on boisterous and both Illya and Napoleon turned toward the speaker.

“Mikhail Sergeyevich, too many.” Illya and the other man exchanged a traditional embrace and greeting, then the other turned to Napoleon and held out his hand to shake.

“Mr. Solo, I have heard so many good things about you and your organization, it is good to meet you at last.”

“Call me Napoleon, please.” He shook the man’s hand and smiled, a careful and polite expression, if a bit wary.

“And you must call me Mikhail, please.” The handshake was firm, no-nonsense, but with nothing to prove.

“Illya, my wife will be so unhappy that she missed you.”

Illya only smiled, lifting one shoulder in a half shrug as if in apology.

“We must talk, Illya Nickovetch, I have a proposal for…” he was cut off as a tall man in a dark suit came up and whispered urgently into his ear. “I’m sorry, I must go, but I will return. Perhaps you would spare me a moment later?”

Illya nodded as the man turned away. Napoleon raised a brow and Illya again shrugged and shook his head. They continued on their way through the crowd speaking with familiar attendees, friendly and sometimes less so. The evening wore on until Mikhail appeared again.

“My man has found a quiet library where we can find some privacy, will you speak with me?”

Illya nodded and both he and Napoleon followed, Mikhail seemed about to protest but the look on Illya’s face preempted anything he might say until they were in private, an UNCLE agent as well as Mikhail’s own guard outside the door.

“How am I to entice you home when you bring your employer with you to this meeting?”

Illya shook his head. “You forget, America is my home now.”

“Yes, citizenship, of course. A matter easily taken care of, I assure you. There are changes coming in our homeland that will overshadow such things, and we could use a good man such as yourself, more important, a man as well traveled as yourself. You have a unique viewpoint, a global view that we will be needing. You can be part of these changes, Illya Nickovetch, helping bring the motherland into the future…” There was more, Mikhail pitching his ideas while Illya sat stoic and silent.

“Mikhail, I wish you every luck with your plans, but I will not be returning to the Soviet Union, not to live. You are right that my views are more global, as are my enemies. I could not, in good conscience, bring them to your doorstep. If you wish your plans to succeed, you will not have the resources to fight them as well as the opposition you will face internally. Allow me to do what I can to keep them from subverting your dream. And they would, for they would see the coming upheaval as a great opportunity to take for themselves that which you want freed. Let me help you in the ways that I can.”

Mikhail looked sorrowful for a moment, then brightened. “I understand, yes. I thank you for listening, and for your discretion,” he looked to Napoleon finally, who nodded.

Illya’s communicator sounded, ending further discussion. The UNCLE team reported a breach in the Brussels security and Illya gave direction as Mikhail turned to Napoleon.

“I thank you for hearing me out, allowing me to try to entice your man back to the homeland.”

“You know Illya, he will go his own way, it is not for me to prevent him. But he has a point, we both have powerful enemies as a result of our work. He is right to want to keep them from using him against you. You have chosen a hard row to hoe, you don’t need the added trouble.”

“I will put my agricultural degree to good use then.” Mikhail smiled as if they really were discussing farming, but the gleam in his eyes told Napoleon that there would be no stopping him from reaching his goals. Napoleon nodded as Illya joined them again.

“We must go, I suggest that you have your men take you out through the kitchen, there is about to be some excitement at the front doors.”

“Thank you, Illya Nickovetch. I will advise them.”

“And again, good luck to you,” Napoleon said, holding out a hand again. Mikhail shook his hand and smiled.

“I understand you are a sailor, Napoleon. Fair winds and following seas to you.”

Mikhail and Illya embraced again, exchanging farewells in their native language and Mikhail slipped out the door.

“He’ll go far, that one.”

“I believe you are right, Napoleon.”

“You could go home.”

“I am going home, and so are you. THRUSH has decided to crash this party and our exit is this way.” Illya went to open the window of the library where an UNCLE guard was waiting for him.

“This is a rather undignified exit for the future head of UNCLE Northwest,” Napoleon was grinning as he climbed out the window.

“I will be sure to send our apologies to our hosts for our hasty exit.” Illya closed the window after them and drew his gun as the three of them ran for the perimeter fence and the car awaiting them.

Napoleon was silent the rest of the way back to their borrowed top floor apartment in an UNCLE secured building.

~~~

The kiss ended when Napoleon pulled back to look again into his partner’s eyes. “We are a little old for necking on the porch, don’t you think?”

Illya shrugged. “I blame the adrenalin.”

Napoleon laughed. “Come inside and let me show you how content your choices make me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Mikhail did earn a degree in agriculture and he was in Brussels at a conference in the early 1970s but all other events are purely my imagination.


End file.
